


striker angel

by seekingtomorrow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:25:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingtomorrow/pseuds/seekingtomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir isn’t sure what it is about the girl that draws her eye.  It could be her shining golden hair or sparkling blue eyes…or maybe it’s her complete and utter dedication to the Jaeger Program.  Told in four parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	striker angel

**Author's Note:**

> i will not stop until i've written pacific rim AU fics for every important snk ship. consider this a companion fic to "tempest melee".

**I.**

The first time Ymir saw her, she was escorting Mikasa Ackerman—a pilot candidate—into the Kwoon, one hand wrapped around the neck of her waterbottle while the other clutched at a towel hanging from her shoulders.  “Who’s that?”

Mikasa followed the length of her instructor’s arm to the young girl standing on the dais next to Erwin Smith.  Clipboard in hand, she looked just as professional as the man to her right, a far cry from the half-clothed occupants of the training facility.  The anticipation in the air was thick and encouraging whispers from instructor to student travelled through the empty room.  “That’s Historia Reiss.  She’s the one in charge of the Mark III project.”

“I didn’t think she’d be so…”

“Young?”

Ymir nodded.  “When I heard Grisha Jaeger was getting dethroned, I didn’t think it’d be by a little girl fresh out of university.”  She snorted, the loud noise in the silence of the room causing several of the occupants to start and cast angry glares at her.  She glared right back.  “Mikasa,” her voice took on a more serious tone, “are you ready?”

The leanly muscled girl—towering several inches above many of the other females with her long limbs and tall neck—rolled her neck and stretched out her arms.  “I’ve been training for ages, Ymir.”

Her instructor cast a glance at the other candidates in the room.  “Just because you’re talented doesn’t mean you’re going to be chosen.  Marshal Smith is going to have to choose two pilots, not just one.”

“You’ve said it yourself, Ymir.  I could be compatible with anyone.”  Mikasa narrowed her eyes slightly and Ymir found herself admiring her student’s inner steel.  Mikasa Ackerman was an anomaly.  A young girl whose entire family was lost to the kaiju and later taken in by the head of the Jaeger Program, Mikasa possessed the innate ability to assess her opponent’s skill in a fight and adjust her own to either match, or overtake them.  However, she’d only taken an interest in becoming a pilot after her adopted brother, Eren, had been assigned to a Mark II jaeger with fellow co-pilot, Jean Kirschtein. 

Ymir shrugged.  “I suppose so.”  Clapping the girl on the back, she turned her eyes to the blond who was deep in conversation with Marshal Smith.  “Good luck, then.”  The girl, catching her gaze, made eye contact with Ymir and smiled awkwardly, a tiny grin that nearly made Ymir respond in kind.  Instead, she just winked and instantly, an endearing red blush worked its way up the blonde’s neck. 

“No flirting on duty,” Mikasa murmured, rolling her shoulders.  “Save that for later.”  As the Marshal called her name along with another, she solemnly walked up to the mat, hanbō in hand, and ducked her head in greeting to her opponent.  The other girl—whose name had been just announced as Annie Leonhardt—stood an entire head below Mikasa, but the thick set of her neck and thighs posed an interesting contract to Mikasa’s leonine musculature. 

“This’ll be interesting,” breathed Ymir, alternating her gaze between her student and the cute blonde at the dais.  “I could really get used to this view.” 

**II.**

Ymir heard the familiar heavy sigh before she saw the girl.  Rounding the corner with two coffees in hand, she watched the exchange between the tiny blonde and two jaeger pilots.  It was the Kirschtein-Jaeger team, fresh from a mission earlier that morning.  Standing at the foot of their enormous jaeger, Rogue Titan, the pair made gestures to the deep gashes that ran the length of the mech’s torso. 

“You couldn’t have fought more carefully?”  Historia slid a pencil behind her ear, assessing the damage to the outer hull.  The kaiju was only a category II, but it had four arms, each of which ended in curved talons. 

“We were fighting for our _lives_ ,” enunciated Kirschtein.  Sweat dripped from his forehead and he looked tired.  “In case you’d forgotten, the state of our jaeger wasn’t exactly our biggest concern.” 

Historia sighed again, but then brightened up immediately.  “Okay, well you were all trying your best!”  A small frown crept across her face as she stared back up at the jaeger, but disappeared the moment she turned to the pilots.  “I’ll get a crew started on the repairs right away!” 

As the two pilots went back to their quarters, Ymir walked up to Historia.  “Hi,” she said, gesturing to the girl with one of the steaming cups.  “You want?”  She asked, even though one of the cups was for Mikasa.  She could always get her another one later.

Historia took it from her with a nod of thanks.  “Hi Ymir.  Thanks.”  She blew on the surface of the hot liquid.  “You looking for Mikasa?”

“I know where she is,” said Ymir.  “I came to see you, actually.”

The blonde’s eyebrows raised in surprise.  “To see me?”  Despite the fact that they were well-acquainted with one another, they weren’t exactly what Ymir would call “friends”.  Historia’s work schedule practically demanded that she allocate all her time to the restoration and upkeep of the jaegers, preventing her from spending time with any friends she would have made at the Shatterdome.  She placed her cup on a messy table next to her, causing a ringed stain to appear on one of the papers.  “What for?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” said Ymir.  “Jaeger and Kirschtein are jerks, by the way.”

Historia laughed a little; Ymir was momentarily mesmerized by the way a dimple formed in her right cheek and idly wondered if she could make the girl laugh again.  “They were just tired.  All of them are like that after a mission.”

“Not Mikasa and Annie,” retorted Ymir.  “They’re jerks all the time.”

Historia smiled again.  “I like Mikasa and Annie.”  Her eyes lowered.  “I like the way they fight.  They always make sure not to damage Tempest Melee too much.”

Ymir huffed, exasperated.  “Those guys—not Mikasa or Annie—don’t respect you.”

“What?”

“You’re too nice!  If someone comes back and their jaeger is half-destroyed and that pisses you off, you’ve got to let them know.”

“I-I can’t just yell at them like that.”  Historia stared into her cup of coffee, eyes following the patterns the steam made when it curled off the liquid.  “It would be unfair.”

“It’s even more unfair if you let them walk all over you like this,” replied Ymir.  “Stop being so nice to them.  You’re in charge, here.”

Historia looked up at Ymir with a shaky smile.  There was no dimple in her cheek, but present in her eyes was a shaky determination that Ymir found herself admiring all the same.  “Thanks, Ymir.”

**III.**

“What the _hell_ happened?”

“The kaiju nearly took one of our arms off.  What do you think happen—”

“And you just _let_ it?  You just decided that it would be okay for a measly category I—something that Tempest Melee could take down in ten minutes!—to ‘nearly take one of your arms off’?”

“Hey, we’re trying our best, here!”

“Well, _try harder_.  I’m not getting paid enough to deal with your incompetent fighting style.  Do you want me to add more missiles or something?  Will that make it easier?”

“I think—”

“I don’t care what you think.  I care about results.  And as little jaeger damage as possible.”

“Historia, don’t you think you’re being a little harsh, here?”

“That is _Colonel Reiss_ to you, soldier.”

**IV.**

There was a knock at her door.  Rolling out of her standard, military-issued bed, Ymir turned the wheel, grunting lightly as the metal gave way. 

“Sorry, it’s late.”  Historia was still in her outfit from the day before, hair plaited messily.  Ymir was also fairly certain that she hadn’t showered either.  “I have something I need to tell you.”

“It can’t wait?”  As much as Ymir liked the girl—and she _really_ liked her—it was three in the morning and she had a long day ahead of her, training more potential recruits.  “You could tell me tomorrow.”  She cast a glance at the glowing red numbers of her clock.  “Or later today.”

Historia shook her head vehemently.  “No, it needs to be right now.”  It was only then that Ymir noticed the book she was clutching to her chest.  “Can I come in?”

Ymir stepped aside, letting the girl pass by.  She closed the heavy metal door behind her, sliding the wheel back into place.  Huffing at the tiny flakes of rust left on her hands, she joined the blonde on her bed.  “What is it?”

Historia turned the lights on and opened the book.  “This.”

Ymir leaned over.  The images on the page were of a jaeger that she’d never seen before.  Far slimmer and smaller than the models she was used to, this particular jaeger had a backpack-looking thing attached to its upper back. 

“Turn the page.”

Ymir flipped the page over.  This image was still of the same jaeger, but this time, it had wings.  Protruding out of the area where the backpack was, the wings spanned wide.  “What is this?”  Another page depicted the jaeger’s hands, transformed into cryo cannons, a weapon that Ymir had only seen used in an ancient Mark I. 

“This is the first of the Mark V designs.”  Historia knotted the bedspread between her fingers, refusing to make eye contact with the other girl.  “I-I wanted you to be the first one to see it.”

Ymir froze.  There was almost something intimate about the way Historia spoke, almost as if this secret shared between the two was far more romantic than just the prospect of giant robots.  “It’s amazing.”  She began to close the book, but Historia spoke once more.

“I want to pilot it.”

When Ymir didn’t respond immediately, she continued talking.

“I’ve always wanted to be a jaeger pilot.  Since the first time I saw one.”  Lifting her slightly greasy hair from her face, she drew closer to Ymir, ghosting her fingers over a thin scar that traced her hairline.  “I was almost killed in a kaiju attack when I was younger, but a jaeger saved me.  It was a Mark I.  Foxtrot Wrath.  I still remember.  One of the pilots came to visit me in the hospital and said I looked like an angel in all the white!”  She laughed, pressing the heel of her hand to her eye.  “I’ve always, always wanted to do this.”

Ymir watched, wordless, as the tears dripped onto her comforter.

“I worked so hard, but Marshal Smith always found better pilots.  And it’s not that I hate them.  I can’t hate them.”

Her breathing grew hitched and Ymir moved to cut her off, but Historia pressed on, undeterred.

“Tempest Melee was supposed to be my chance to ask him.  But, Annie and Mikasa were perfect for it!  I couldn’t just force them away because I wanted to.”

Ymir held the book up, mouthing a name etched in faint pencil.  “Striker…Angel?”

Historia nodded and drew her shirt up, using the collar to wipe at the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

The words bubbled up in her throat before she could force them down.  “I’ll pilot with you.”

“What?”  Historia looked at her with the wide-open eyes of a newborn deer.  “What are you talking about?”

A part of Ymir recoiled at the idea of having to place herself in immediate danger, but the other part, the part that maybe cared for Historia too deeply for her to fully admit, leapt at the chance to be able to protect her.  “I’ll pilot with you.  We can do it.  I’ve assessed Drift Compatibility for dozens of teams before.  I _know_ we have it.  We can do this, Historia.”

Without saying another word, the blonde leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the taller girl’s waist.

“Thank you,” were the muffled words Ymir could feel being spoken into her shoulder.  “Thank you so much.”  Ymir pressed a kiss to the top of her head, uncaring as to whether she really bathed in the last twenty-four hours or not. 

They stayed like that for the rest of the night.  


End file.
